"Feser... has the rare and enviable gift of making philosophical argument compulsively readable" Sir Anthony Kenny, Times Literary Supplement

Selected for the First Things list of the 50 Best Blogs of 2010 (November 19, 2010)

Monday, December 19, 2011

The phenomenology of spirits

Human life is tragic. And while there are, without question, a great many evils we would all wish away in a heartbeat if only we could, to wish away all of them would be to wish away much of what gives our existence depth and meaning. Every grownup knows that life would lose its savor if it entirely lost its bite. (Of course, a certain kind of atheist thinks that a really loving God would have made the world a 24/7 Disneyland. But I was talking about grownups.)

Nor are the pains always extrinsic to the pleasures. Some of them are built in; indeed, the greatest earthly delights are never without a sharp sting. Examples are all around us: Tobacco. Women. And whiskey.

Spirits are an adult pleasure. They grow on you with experience -- experience with the drink itself (no one ever likes his first sip), but, more than that, experience in living. High school and college kids like their keggers. The school of hard knocks breeds a preference for something more refined and bittersweet, or indeed just bitter. Show me a guy who doesn’t like whiskey or gin and I’ll show you a guy who’s never lost his job, or had his heart broken or his ass kicked. Beer is for party people dancing to “Love Shack.” The Scotch drinker’s favorite song, as everyone knows, is “Deacon Blues.”

Hilaire Belloc, it seems, recommended confining one’s drinking to beer and wine, or in any event to alcoholic beverages developed before the Reformation. One can easily see Chesterton heartily agreeing. What this shows is that for all their insights, the Chesterbelloc were capable of saying eye-rollingly stupid things -- something you already know if you’re familiar with Belloc’s views on the French Revolution (now there’s modernism for you) or Chesterton’s on jazz (now there’s Puritanism for you). Where culture is concerned, the “more Catholic than thou” card ought seldom if ever to be played -- Catholicism is universal and embraces what is of value in all cultures, not just the medieval.

But if we are going to play that silly game, the friend of spirits has the better of the argument. The Incarnation, after all, is not a story of beery pub songs and forced bonhomie, after the fashion of the local Chesterbelloc Men’s Supper Club:

Come on now, fellows, let’s show the world we Catholics aren’t Jansenists! Um, but do stick to the script. Please put down the Martini and cigarettes! Pick up the burgundy. Light that pipe. Adjust that monocle. Now sing along, everyone: “Wherever the Catholic sun doth shine etc.”

No, the Incarnation is the story of God Himself taking on the pain of being a human being, to the point of public humiliation and gruesome death. It’s a swig of frozen gin, or a bracing shot of peaty Laphroaig.

And the peatier the better, I say. Youth prepares you for adulthood, with its greater joys and deeper sorrows. And beer and wine exist in order to prepare you for the Speysides, which in turn exist in order to prepare you for the Islays.

Now listen to the gorgeous Carolyn Leonhart singing gorgeously on the theme. (She looks like my wife, by the way. Just sayin’.) More reflections on our subject here and here.

I wasn't recommending drowning one's sorrows in drink. In fact, I wasn't recommending anything. I was talking about the personality type to which this or that drink (yes, yes, in moderation) appeals. That is, to the extent I was being serious at all.

Now I feel like kind of a jerk. In my own defense, though, I will say that I was at least 15% joking myself (hence the "There, I said it"). But it is also true that I am probably around 60% oversensitive to drinking stuff. For that, I apologize.

Tell you what, Josh. To make up for my rash remarks, I'll wash down this evening's Martini with a fine Cabernet, in honor of the Chesterbelloc. A whole bottle, just to make sure I learn my lesson good and hard. Blogging may be light for a couple of days...

Anyway, I (sort of) lied. I do kind of like the taste of smooth whisky, or dark rum, or nice brandy - but straight. Can't understand the attraction of mixed drinks, and I rarely drink spirits - I don't much like the effect, only the taste.

Wine is (a little) slower.

Probably the hypothesis is insufficiently precisely specified to be falsifiable.

And I have purchased (so far) three copies of TLS - and got different people to read them. So maybe that should be considered.

Anyway, my heart only seemed to be broken at the time; I deserved to lose my job; and my arse is well-enough padded that no harm was done.

My old man could sup whiskey for Ireland; personally, I've never gotten the taste. I'll split a bottle of wine over a good meal with a good woman, but I'm afraid you lost me when you implied Jazz constituted music. Is that a poseur alarm I hear in the background?

One of my friends, while at Notre Dame, had a philosophy class where Michael Ruse came as a guest lecturer or something to that extent... while he was lecturing (which he did in a reclined position, with his feet up on a table) he drank regularly from a large glass of beer that he had sitting right next to him.

And the peatier the better, I say. Youth prepares you for adulthood, with its greater joys and deeper sorrows. And beer and wine exist in order to prepare you for the Speysides, which in turn exist in order to prepare you for the Islays. "

Thanks for the recommendations Ed.

But, if I wanted that experience, I could always place a charred stick in a glass of iodine water mixed with pure grain alcohol, and take a swig.

Ok, on the music.

Still, from the perspective of this palate, The Macallan (your Speyside) or Glenmorangie, a "special" with its cask flavoring, will do.

Speaking of what will do, and nicely at that, we come to gins.

Bombay was recommended, and I agree; but not about the Sapphire. The regular, in my opinion, makes for a less raw more sophisticated drink.

Now the kicker. For those who like martinis made with a clean tasting gin having a bright but subdued juniper scent yet no cloying perfuminess, you might try Gordons with your touch of Noilly Pratt.

Go ahead and laugh. I did too, at first.

I only tried it after reading about it in one of those table top Christmas books on cocktails which had lain unread for years. Some English author whose name I can't recall and would be unsuccessful in looking up if I tried, stated that it was along with Booth's the classic martini gin.

What could he be expected to know? A 10-12 dollar bottle of gin? Really?

Well, yes, believe it or not.

Don't forget the lemon twist or the large anchovy olive you stuffed yourself, either.

Then when the other couples get there and you're mingling before dinner you'll need some background, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2mB9qyduhHM

@Corrigan:"My old man could sup whiskey for Ireland; personally, I've never gotten the taste. I'll split a bottle of wine over a good meal with a good woman, but I'm afraid you lost me when you implied Jazz constituted music. Is that a poseur alarm I hear in the background?"

Interesting! I have been too embarrassed to say this to Ed, but, as I have already said, I don't really care for spirits at all - and I dislike jazz. I am a bit of a musician myself - horn player in Manukau Symphony - and know musicians whose judgement I respect who tell me that jazz is real music, and can be good music - so I just suppose I am lacking something - both musically and alcoholically :-)

'I always thought the rather obvious Islay malts were for beginners...'

Treachery, Berenike! Islay malts such as Laphroaig are a miracle of transubstantiation. They allow you consume the accidents of earth, fire, smoke and wood and survive. (Indeed probably benefiting my clogged arteries by dilation.)

Maolshachleann was right I think, and I would add that GK was the furthest thing from puritan, and the furthest thing from snobbery. If there were two things he hated most in this world, the aforementioned would be them.

‎"I represent the jolly mass of mankind. I am the happy and reckless Christian.”"

I think what Ed is saying is that he is more of a Sebastian Flyte Catholic than a G.K. Chesterton one.

Whoa. What the hell is that supposed to mean?

As to Chesterton, what I meant was not that he was a Puritan, but that his (obvious) anti-Puritanism was selective, or inconsistent, or at any rate reflective of his personal tastes as much as of any well thought out position. Again, to the extent that I meant anything serious at all. (And of course, even the Puritans weren't as Puritanical as their reputation would have it. These things are complicated.)

Chesterton's anti-Puritanism becomes a bore sometimes, as all anti-Puritanism (in the loose, non-theological sense, of course)becomes a bore sometimes. People forget that Puritanism can be something enjoyed for its own sake, in the same way children (and sometimes adults) skip over the cracks in the pavement. It's a bit like what Dr. Feser says in the post about life losing its savour if it had no bite. People impose limits on themselves for the pleasure of sticking to them. My father won't read any science-ficton or fantasy because they have fantastical elements. When I point out that ghost stories are fantastical too, he says: "But ghosts really exist". I don't think it makes any sense but the world would be poorer without such bloody-mindedness and prejudice.

Though a little esoteric, I would recommend Hendrick's gin from Scotland. As for that other Scottish drink the Talisker is a man's drink and if you can get across the pond the Morlach is quite sublime.

Jameson, or Crown Royal. Actually, one of my darkest moments came about due to a bottle of Crown Royal. My friends drank a whole bottle I had been given as payment for a weeklong dog-sitting for my sister and brother in law. I never even got a drop as while they were drinking it down I had to go get my daughter from the aforementioned in-laws. When I got home and saw the bottle empty... Lets just say that they are lucky that they are my dearest friends. And it helps that they paid for it later in the form of terrible hangovers. And for the record, not much of a jazz man. Sorry.

But, if I wanted that experience, I could always place a charred stick in a glass of iodine water mixed with pure grain alcohol, and take a swig.

I'll go with what DNW said.

Don't you guys know that every glass of scotch dissolves a little more your capacity to grasp the truth in an excellent wine? In vino veritas, I say!

As for jazz, Ed already knows my thoughts on the subject: jazz is what you get when somebody who wanted to be a musician stopped trying because it wasn't coming. You did know that jazz was the music of choice at NICE, didn't you, before Merlin got there and dealt with them?

Back to spirits: does it occur to you that the stories of ghosts and the drinks of distilleries use the same word for a reason? That they both imbibe from the same source of vague unreality?

Every language is a testament to its culture. And I must say, regardless of the philosophical positions espoused, the nihilism, insecurity and pettiness of Anglo-American culture drips from every word in the comments. Losing one's job? Heart broken? Ass kicked? Drink? Sharp sting?

My goodness. No offense is intended, but sometimes remaining silent is uncharitable. Despair and absurdity abound. The 7 mortal sins undergird the whole mess. An intellect petty and confused. I envy none of you or your society, whether it is one of mutual admiration, corroboration or domination and submission. Philosophy was to free man from confusion and illusion, to raise him out of depravity and superficiality into true humanity and true authenticity. But I suppose no matter how hard some try, they never manage to break through the oppressive ceiling of lies offered to them from birth, from absurd pretensions, from shallow arrogance, masking and insulating them from the simple and blatant reality of their souls, of their very being. The hole in one's heart finds its missing piece elsewhere...

I hate Anglo-American-Colonial culture. It pollutes and infects everything it touches, and presents itself with an air of universality and rightness. It saddens me on a good say, or terrifies me on a bad day

What a bizarre, humorless -- and indeed, uncharitable -- comment. Perhaps it is the language barrier that prevents you from recognizing the lighthearted spirit in which these comments were intended. That would be a charitable interpretation, anyway.

And by the way, what does anything said here have to do with "domination and submission," "an air of universality and rightness," and "the Anglo-American-Colonial culture" -- whatever that is? Must even the most unserious blog post be read through the lenses of Euro-leftist geopolitical paranoia?

I gave up drinking whiskey last year, 2011, except for New Year's Eve when I tasted Laphroaig, Bushmill's White Label, Bushmills 1608, Coopers 1977, Jameson Redbreast, Famous Grouse and Jura Superstition, not in that order. The Jura stole the show despite being a relatively cheap single malt, about £20 in most UK supermarkets.

About Me

I am a writer and philosopher living in Los Angeles. I teach philosophy at Pasadena City College. My primary academic research interests are in the philosophy of mind, moral and political philosophy, and philosophy of religion. I also write on politics, from a conservative point of view; and on religion, from a traditional Roman Catholic perspective.